


Rider | Medusa -- Library of the Mind

by HolyGrailWarGM (RavenkinLegacy)



Series: Dreams of a Grand Order [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Fluff, Hair Brushing, Other, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenkinLegacy/pseuds/HolyGrailWarGM
Summary: A dream of a library and its inhabitant.





	Rider | Medusa -- Library of the Mind

I fall asleep on the common room couch, and awaken surrounded by bookshelves.

_ Another Servant’s dream? _

I slowly pull myself into a sitting position on the cushioned bench.  The entire room is circular, lined with bookshelves that are broken up by white marble columns.  The shelves stretch up from the floor, one, two, three… nine stories worth, all the way up to the ceiling.  The chirping of birds floats down through a round opening, and I can make out the drape and curl of vines that have fallen down into the room.  Beyond that, a hazy blue sky.

A quiet sense of joy bubbles up in my chest.  I don’t know whose dream this is, but it’s so peaceful that I already feel at home.

A soft crackling from the other side of the room draws my attention.  A fire glows in a fireplace, warm and inviting. In front of it sit two high wingback chairs.  The end table between them is piled high with books.

A pair of long legs clad in tight black denim dangles over the arm of the leftmost chair.

_ I guess that’s the occupant. _

With nothing else to do, I decide to go investigate.  I ease myself up to my feet and slowly creep toward the fireplace.  As I circle around the far side of the unoccupied chair, it occurs to me that I have no way out if the dream’s owner is unhappy to have company.  The thought isn’t scary so much as guilt-inducing; the thought of bothering any of my Servants leaves a tingling sinking feeling in my chest.

Still, I approach the front of the chair ready for anything.

Anything except for Medusa dressed in black jeans and an oversized black turtleneck.  Her long hair is bound up in a messy, lopsided bun. She is watching me as I come around the chair, clearly expecting me.  Her beautiful jewel eyes peer up at me over the delicate black rims of her glasses.

_ Her glasses… _

I freeze.  As much as I treasure Medusa as a Servant, her Mystic Eyes of Petrification terrify me.  As much as I would like to get to know her, the idea of turning to stone -- or having any other lasting enchantment cast on me -- is frightening enough to drive me away from her company.

It takes me a long moment to realize that I haven’t been petrified, that I can still blink and breathe and think.  I do blink at her then. She blinks back, slow like a cat showing affection, then smiles.

“It’s a dream, Master,” she reassures me, “my curse has no power here.”

I lower my shoulders from where they had hunched up around my ears, and force a smile back.  “I’m sorry -- that was probably rude of me.”

Her smile reaches her eyes now, the corners creasing with care.  “Not at all. It’s a reasonable concern. You are wise to keep up your guard.”

I nod, unsure of what else to say to her.  We haven’t seen each other much since the incident with her sisters trying to set us up.  I had wanted to seek her out as much as I had wanted to give her space. Looking at her now, I wonder if she had been feeling the same way.

She seems to sense my hesitation, and motions to the empty chair.  “If you’d like to join me here, you can. If not… I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to wake you up.  I’m afraid you’re stuck here until you awaken on your own.”

I take a seat on the edge of the chair and glance at the pile of books.  “Thank you. I don’t know if I can read this, though…”

Her eyebrows tilt in concern.  “Oh… I thought I had picked ones in your language.  Was I wrong?”

A tome titled “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” sits at the top of the stack; I flip it open to a random page.  The words are legible, but as I suspected, their order is utter nonsense. I close the book again. “No,” I tell her, “you weren’t wrong.  It’s just that… most humans aren’t capable of reading in our dreams. Something about different brain processes.”

“Ah,” she replies, “how strange.”  She lays a finger in her book and closes it, lowering it to her lap.  “May I ask what you see when you look at the page?”

I clear my throat and reopen the book.

“And he enters and confiding the first in the man had only been not waiting at Baker Street.”  I glance up at her. Her eyes have widened in surprise. I go on, “Sherlock Holmes was recompanion.  The bound of the room as to the side and walked man who affected, and having a small end of the second to be favel.”

Across from me, Medusa lets out the most undignified snort that I’ve ever heard.  She quickly covers her mouth, but she cannot hide the smile that has lit up her face.  It’s a beautiful expression. I smile back a little to encourage her, and she giggles.

The gorgon giggles.

Joy bubbles up in my chest again.

Medusa glances down at the book in my hands and then at her own.  A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she opens back up to her place in the book.  She studies the page for a long moment, then looks up at me. The look she casts over her glasses is almost shy.

“If you would like,” she offers, “I can read it to you to pass the time.”

The bubbles in my chest creep up to my throat.  She is so nice. How is she so nice? How did I not know that she was this nice?

I have to offer something in return.

She tilts her head, waiting for me to answer.  The bun of her hair flops off to one side, completely uninterested in staying where she tried to put it.

_ That’s it. _

“Medusa,” I reply, “I would love that.  But, can I do something for you too?”

She draws back the tiniest amount.  There is hesitation in her voice when she says, “You may ask.”

“May I braid your hair?”

There is another long silence, filled only by the crackling of the fire and the chirping of the birds.  I’m sure that I’ve overstepped a bound. It’s probably terribly rude to ask that. Her hair is  _ snakes _ sometimes, for heaven’s sake.  That’s probably why it’s not staying in place.  It might bite me if I try to touch it. Is that even okay to ask her?  That was probably so rude to ask.

I open my mouth to retract my question, but she says, “Yes, that… would be an acceptable trade.”

“Oh,” I reply, creatively.  “Ok.”

Another long moment passes as we stare at one another, neither certain where to go from here.

Finally, I shake my head and motion to the floor between the chairs and the fireplace.  “It might be easier if…”

“Ah,” she says, “of course.”

Medusa carefully unfolds herself from the chair and slides down to the floor, taking a small pillow with her to sit on.  I do the same, seating myself behind her in front of the fire. Once we are both settled, she opens the book she had a thumb in and begins to read.

Her voice is mellow and melodic, with the barest hint of an accent from far across the sea.  Some people have a “reading voice”, like they are playing a song by the individual notes instead of the tune as a whole.  Medusa’s voice flows as though she is telling a story that she has told one thousand times. Her tone rises and falls with the sentences and paragraphs; she injects natural pauses in the cadence to follow the punctuation and intent.

She is beautiful.

She has already read two pages when I finally remember my end of the bargain.  I lift my hands to her head and take hold of the bun. She pauses, just for a moment, but I notice.

“Is it okay?”  I ask automatically.  “I could not, if you would prefer.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures me, “Please, go on.”

I breathe a laugh and begin to untangle the knot that she tied her hair into.  It is long, so long, and so smooth, but it is developing snares; without a comb, I can only run my fingers through it to detangle it, and after a moment she resumes reading.

Medusa’s hair is like a wave of purple silk that cascades through my fingers as I comb.  Never in my life have I felt anything so soft, and in the light of the fireplace it shimmers like amethyst melted to liquid.  It strikes me as immeasurably precious, and my heart swells in my chest again, this time at the trust she is showing me, to let me sit here at her back running my fingers through this beautiful fountain.

It takes me a moment to realize that she has stopped reading and is just letting the book rest in her lap.

Careful not to let my hands stop moving, I lean around to peek at her face.  Her eyes are closed and her features are relaxed. A smile tugs at my own mouth as a fluttering starts around my heart.

“Hey,” I murmur, “you didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?”

Even in the firelight, I can see her cheeks tinge pink.  The corner of her mouth twitches upwards the smallest amount.  “No,” she replies just as quietly, “I was just enjoying your touch.”

I’m glad she is facing away; my own cheeks must be furiously red.  “Oh,” I stutter, “that’s good. Right? This is good?”

She chuckles.  “Yes, this is good.”

“So… Do you want me to actually braid it, or…?”

Her deep hum vibrates in my hands, resting low on her back in her hair.  “If you wouldn’t mind just brushing it. I hardly ever do that myself.”

I smile to myself and resume running my fingers through her hair.  It is long enough that I have to work in sections, but never does it feel like a chore.  I work slowly and carefully, combing from her scalp down to the ends of the hair. Whenever I hit a snare, I pause and pick at it gently until it comes loose.  She seems content to just sit there like this, but after a few minutes she remembers herself and picks up the book again.

By the time the fireplace begins to dim, I have finished combing Medusa’s beautiful hair.  She lowers the book again and we sit in comfortable silence. My head feels light and my eyelids feel heavy, and when I fail to suppress a yawn, Medusa chuckles.

As graceful as if she were dancing, she turns around on her cushion to face me.  Her gaze has turned from piercing to soft, and there’s a gentle smile on her lips.  I return the smile, but my head feels light and my eyelids feel heavy. It is so easy to just let them fall closed… and I must, because the room goes dark and I hear Medusa’s soft laughter.

A shift of weight in front of me, then the soft press of lips on my forehead.  I gasp, drawing a puff of breath from her laughter.

“Time to wake up, Master…”

***

I open my eyes to bright artificial light.

_ Right, _ I remember,  _ I fell asleep on the common room couch. _

A stirring from a nearby chair draws my attention.  I was alone when I fell asleep, but no longer: Medusa is curled up in a giant cushy chair, her head resting in the crook of her arm and her knees pulled up close to her body.  Breaker Gorgon is in place, and her hair has fallen out of its bun into a messy wave on the floor.

She stirs again as I sit up.  I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the tingling pull in my chest again.  “Thank you for keeping me company.”

She stifles a yawn with one hand, then offers me a shy smile.  “Thank you for combing my hair.”

“For all the good it did,” I laugh.  Then I pause, and think. “You know, I have a brush stashed somewhere, if you’d like me to do it again…”

She smiles wider now and stretched like a satisfied cat.  “I believe I would like that very much.”

My heart swells again with joy.

_ Yeah.  I think I would too. _

**Author's Note:**

> I was so thrilled with Medusa’s Interlude, guys. Fake-dating the gorgon babe was A+. I imagine this happens shortly afterwards, as the first of many actual dates. I love this beautiful nerd.  
> Nonsense text is an excerpt from the neural network book:  
> The Adventures of Cyborg Holmes, Created by Sid Sahay, written by a computer: http://www.literai.com/story/99504aa3f9


End file.
